


Vim Vitae

by akarikyaui01



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassins & Hitmen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay, Hurt/Comfort, I gotchu, I mean that, M/M, Mafia NCT, Minor Character Death, Minor Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Minor Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, OT21 (NCT), OT23 (NCT), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Strippers & Strip Clubs, are u in need of some new mafia nct fics, its not bad you'll be fine, not beta read bc idk how that works yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akarikyaui01/pseuds/akarikyaui01
Summary: Living in a loft, drinking water out of a rusty bucket while your best friend slowly bleeds out is not how Mark had planned spending his twentieth birthday, but it wasn't like he was asking for trouble.Donghyuck just happens to bring that for him anyway.Alternatively: Mark Lee is bad at feelings, and Donghyuck is a little too good at murder.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! im akari and this is my first ao3 fic, so im pretty scared but im excited. uh, everyone here is gay, like. very seriously most absolutely gay so ill try to include as many of the NCT boys pairings as possible, but im not going to tell you right now bc that defeats the point :)
> 
> i owe a huge thank you to @the_aesthetic_of_happiness and their work "Crimeful" for giving me the inspiration to write something like this - if you haven't read that, i *highly* recommend it, its incredible.
> 
> asides from that, if you have sensitivities surrounding violence, guns/knives/etc., the sex industry (not detailed but definitely mentioned), cursing/vulgar language or things along those lines please just read carefully! If there are any scenes containing potentially triggering topics ill make sure to mark them at the beginnings of chapters and put a summary of them at the end so people can skip if they need to. 
> 
> im so excited to start really getting into writing this, and i hope you'll all enjoy the journey with me!

With the city falling back into its steady circadian rhythm, sun rising and rousing its occupants with a glinty glare that streamed in its warmth through the cracks in the curtains left too far apart, two men strolled down the pavements, awash with the shadows. A small step to the left, and one would catch their faces in the corner store security camera, but they brushed past with barely a glance, melting away into the black and appearing again from the smoke on the other side. 

One, with grey hair the refracted the light at an angle, standing a half head shorter than his companion had his face curled down into a frown, pinched eyebrows so close it looked painful. His strides were purposeful, albeit falling a half step too short to keep up with the taller man beside him. Dressed in black slacks and a hand slid into the right pocket, he looked at ease, taking a peaceful stroll down the street, in stark comparison to the tense grey-haired man beside him. 

With hardly a car on the road, he was slightly careless in his movements; a watchful eye kept out for the blinking red lights that seemed to stalk them both, but otherwise calm and collected on the streets - no pedestrians to avoid eye contact with, and no burly businessmen to shuffle past and shoulder check. Neither of them were too fond of businessmen, having been privy to what words go under the table and underhand behind their closed conference doors. 

Their breath fogged up in the cool air, warmth condensing into small droplets that fell to the concrete and slid into the storm drains dotting every ten metres or so. Knowing that the sewer was somewhere below, the water chased down the pipes, falling, falling, falling, until _splash_ , it met the slow flowing stream.

The birds above seemed barely awake, circling the tops of buildings, wings unfurled and beating against gravity. If one squinted, one would almost be able to catch the metallic glint that bounced off every second bird, see the reflection that came with the glass eyes settled into a digi-bird's body. The smaller man shuddered, those things always gave him the creeps. Cold hearted and mechanical, they normally only served a single purpose. Surveillance, or glorified pigeon-carriers. He'd been followed by a fair few during his lifetime.

( _A young teenage boy let out a gasp, collapsing to his hands and knees in front of the roots of the old oak tree in his garden. With shaking hands, the half-bitten nails slowly scooped up the bird's carcass, smooth palms stroking the blood-matted feathers lightly. His bottom lip trembled slightly, and he looked back over his shoulder to the man standing in the shade of the old tree._

_"Why?" his voice shook lightly._

_The man tilted his head up to the second lowest branch._

_Following his gaze, the young boy cast his eyes up, spotting a small nest nestled in between the branches and the newly budding leaves. Tending to the crying hatchlings, was another, almost identical bird. His lips parted, a question forming on the tip of his tongue before the words were snatched away._

_With it's neck craned down, all the boy could see of the bird was it's blinking glass eyes, and it's face of metal_.)

Several nests could be seen tucked behind a metal chimney he assumed would keep the unhatched eggs warm without their mother there. Their mother, who was cawing harshly at the bright light that had rudely snatched her from her dreams. That was the only way to tell if you had a digi-bird stalker or not; metal birds don't yell angrily at the rising sun.

Do birds dream? He wondered offhandedly, almost turning to pose the question to the taller man strolling beside him before he was silenced with a quick arm to his chest, halting his movements. 

He did not speak, only tilted his head in the direction of a building off towards the left with a question spreading across his face without necessary words. The shorter man made an aborted nod and they set off again, footsteps not lining up in pace. For every two the larger man took, his partner took three.

And so, twenty six and two third paces later, the men stopped again. In front of them a rusted iron door with it's handle worn from use over time hung precariously from it's hinges, and the green paint was chipping away to reveal the cheap metal underneath. The grey-haired man doubted if it was real metal in the first place, or some kind of holographic paint to give it the metallic sheen; although with a kick, the door seemed durable enough. 

Ivy twirled down from the walls, almost obscuring the men from view on the street and they took advantage of this - leaning into the building while contemplating the least obnoxious method to get this door open. The city might be asleep, but that doesn't mean two men kicking a door down just off the side of the main street wouldn't wake it up, and he _really_ doesn't want to deal with the police again. Not today, at least. The smaller man chuckled bitterly at the thought of having to call the Schangui twice in a month for legal assistance. Although Kun was kind enough to help them out with the little spat they had with the police earlier on, he thought it would be pushing his luck to call the leader this quickly again. He quite liked his brain intact, thank you very much, and _not_ coming out of his ears. 

Before the taller man could lift his foot to crack it against the metal handle again, a glint from the bushes caught the slight man's eye. With a raised hand he suffled into the shrubbery, hand reaching past the browning leaves that came along with autumn. His fingertips brushed against a thin piece of spindly metal, a _poor_ mimicry of a crowbar.

Gripping the bar in his hand, he felt the familiar thrum jolt through the pads of his fingers, and he couldn't contain the smile that lifted the corner of his lips.

But, beggars can't be choosers, and so finding the previously made dents in the hinges of the door - _odd_ , that they both had missed that, but odder that they were there in the first place, what with this building being documented as abandoned for years now - and with a slight press of his weight into the metal bar, the door snapped open with a groan.

The two men slipped up the stairs being mindful of the shards of glass that littered the floor from the broken window on the first floor, shattered by what appeared to be a deflated soccer ball; the words _Fifa World Cup, Morocco_ written on it's sides. 

Yes, he thinks to himself, this building hasn't had people in it for quite some time. 

With another final glance around the room to survey the surrounding furniture, he spots nothing and moves back to following his partner up the staircase to the top floor. The wooden panels crack beneath his shoes and he is careful with where he steps and places his feet in fear of the wood being rotted and giving way underfoot. 

Footfalls from the ceiling above halt him in his tracks and then send him flying up the stairs a moment later - wood rot be damned. 

The larger man's eyes fly up to meet the smaller who had just come pounding up the stairs two at a time before gesturing gently towards the corner of the room.

Two pairs of wide eyes blinked back. 

Hidden in the shadow of a large old dresser with its drawers pulled halfway out and surrounded by a litany of scorch marks burned into the wooden flooring sat two teenagers, eyes wide with terror, curled up into a small pile of skin and bones and not a lot else.

The boy with dark hair kept his legs would up into his chest but had one arm resting behind his back and the other resting on the boy lying beside him. His shorts were ripped in places with the scratches on his legs to match them. His eyes were hardened and untrusting, glaring down the men from across the room.

In contrast, the boy beside him, didn't look much of anything. His face was washed of colour - a pale, sickly white that almost looked purple with the veins winding beneath his skin and the darkened skin that seemed to run bone-deep underneath his eyes. His collarbones stuck out from the stretched collar of his t-shirt and the sweat soaked material hugged each curve of his ribs. 

His eyes flickered rapidly between the two men before rolling into the back of his head. 

Taeyong jerked forward out of instinct before being forced backwards, both by Johnny's hand on his shoulder and the knife that the dark-haired boy was now brandishing in a threatening manner having pulled it from behind himself. His hand had tightened on his friend, but he still refused to look away from the two men who had come into their home.

His leg twitched from underneath him when Taeyong took a breath before trying another, smaller step towards the pair.

"Stop." his voice came out stronger than they both had expected it too - by the way his eyes had widened slightly at the sound - but it was scratchy and dry; clearly out of use. 

Taeyong knelt slightly, raising his hands up in an attempt to show that he was unarmed. He _was_ armed, but he was sure that telling the kids that was definitely not going to help to earn their trust.

From the back of the room, Johnny watched silently, not questioning Taeyong's actions. He'd seen these events play out before; and it was high time they got some younger ones in anyway. 

From his crouched position, Taeyong met the boy's eyes. They were wild, like he was preparing to launch himself across the room to throttle him if he got too close - would bare his teeth at him to scare him away.

"I'm not here to hurt you, nor is my friend," Taeyong's voice was soft, calming. "We just want to know if we can help."

"You can't. Get out." he flicked the knife back towards the staircase before returning its point to Taeyong's chest. The glint from the sunlight that had hit it as it moved told Taeyong that it was as blunt as a piece of plywood, but he still didn't fancy getting impaled before nine o'clock in the morning. 

"What's your name?" he tried a different approach, settling himself further to lean on his knees more comfortably.

"Why do you care?" the dark-haired boy spat back, jerking her head at Johnny's looming figure in the corner, "and why is he here?"

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours."

The boy's eyes pondered for a moment, eyes flickering away. "I don't care. Get out."

Johnny spoke up from the corner. "How long has your friend been bleeding?"

The boy's grip tensed on his unconscious friend's arm, white-knuckled and painful looking. Taeyong had missed it the first time, but the boy's shirt hadn't just been soaked with sweat, the navy colour had been darkened to almost black by the wound that seemed to still be seeping out blood from his right thigh.

"It's none of your business," came the cutting reply, a half beat too late. 

"We can help."

" _We don't want your help._ " 

The knife was let fly from the boy's hands, the metal arcing and handle spinning towards Taeyong's face at a rapid speed. 

He simply batted it away with the back of his hand, unaffected. The metal clinked gently to the side, and Taeyong felt himself relax miniscutely. Regardless of the fact that he couldn't _technically_ be killed by a knife of that caliber, doesn't mean that having a knife pointed at you threateningly and then hurled at your face is any more of a pleasant experience than it was unsettling. 

The boy's face shrunk into itself, eyes losing their fight and instead being replaced by fear.

" _Gifted_." the words came out on a breath exhaled through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. He turned to frantically begin shaking his friend's limp arm.

"Nono, Nono wake up, oh my _god_ _wake up I need you right now wake up, wake up_ ," he muttered, tugging insistently at the cotton material. 

The boy - Nono - stirred slightly, blearily blinking up at him before seeming to remember where they were. With a slight cry, he pressed his hands into the flooring and pushed himself up to lean against the wall in part and otherwise on the dark-haired boy. 

He slipped his hand down to Nono's, pulling it into his lap and squeezing it twice in quick sucession. Nono, still trying to connect the dots of their situation seemed to recognize this, and instantly flickered to life.

Or, well. Attempted to. 

Taeyong tried a tentative step closer, more comfortable now that there wasn't a knife to threaten him, and Nono's body bristled with electricity. 

A weak display, the golden charges barely falling off his fingertips before colliding with the ground creating more scorches as they met the wood paneling. Taeyong felt his eyes soften with sympathy; the poor boy was clearly in unimaginable amounts of pain.

"Nono," he called softly, trying to appeal to the other boy instead. "We can help, I promise. We're not the bad people."

"Tha's wha' the ba' p'ple say," he mumbled, head tilting listlessly towards the side, only to be caught by the other boy's watchful hands. He was gentle as he pulled his head onto his shoulder, eyes wide and worried.

The dark-haired boy whispered his name twice, tugging at his sleeve again before giving up on the task entirely. 

"How long has he been able to stay awake for?" Johnny questioned, leaning forward.

"Only a couple of minutes at a time," the boy's voice was distracted now, hands moving to card through the other boy's light-coloured hair. 

"Nono was-"

"Don't call him that." Taeyong was cut off. "His name's Jeno." The ice had seeped back into the boy's voice.

Johnny bowed his head slightly in apology. " _Jeno_ , when did he get injured?"

The boy's eyes drifted behind Johnny to the wall he was leaning against. Etched into the upright wooden panels were tallies of five.

"A week or so. Been a couple of days since we ran out of digimeds."

Digimeds. The world's new solution to the constant inflation of medical equipment or prescriptions. Why go to the doctor and pay for a consultation, why pay the money for _real_ tablets when you could get hydromorphone over the counter in a digimed? Cheaper, helps clear out the backlog in hospitals systems, seems like a win-win scenario. Except for the fact that, if you don't read the fine print, you'll forget the fact that anyone with any kind of genetic modification (blood infusion, organ transplant, or the ability to make electricity spark from your fingertips) ran a rather high risk of having adverse side effects to the capsules. 

> **"Common side effects include, but are not limited to: coughing, difficulty with breath, pink or green patches on the face and neck, blurred vision, partial or full blindness, loss of mobility in right side of body, loss of mobility in left side of body, hot or cold flushes, depression, and or death."**

"Why didn't you take him to a hospital?" Taeyong couldn't stop the question from slipping past his lips.

If looks could kill, he would be six feet under right now. 

"Do you _think_ I didn't think of that? Do you _know_ what would happen if I dragged his sorry ass into a hospital right now?" he hissed, clutching Jeno closer to his chest. 

Taeyong understood. Non- _Jeno_ , was gifted. Control of electricity was rare enough in itself, but being able to pull it from your body alone? Almost unheard of nowadays. Bringing him into a hospital had his name put into the database, and was a surefire way to get him picked up by someone else, like ATEEZ or EXO. 

The thing is, with gifted, superhumans, powereds, lab experiments, _what ever you want to call them_ , is that they're a lot more dangerous than your average human and therefore a lot more valuable. Especially in a career that might involve fighting for your life on the daily. About ten percent of the population had some kind of ability at this point (and seventy two percent of _those_ would find themselves in some kind of career relating to the black or white side of the law); but they could range from being able to boil a kettle with your fingertips like Rikki from H2o, to being able to shut down an entire city's power system with a blink.

Keeping yourself safe was always a top priority, but especially so as a gifted. You never knew who you could trust, never knew who was a friend and who was just trying to figure out the best way to get you to help them out instead. 

"And when did you notice that it was infected?" Johnny broke Taeyong from his thoughts again before the boy could retreat back into himself.

His eyes widened, mouth opening slightly. With a glance up at Johnny and a glance back down to Jeno in his lap he took his hands away from him and started to pull back the blood-soaked cotton.

Johnny and Taeyong both took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of the ripped skin of Jeno's thigh. It looked less like a stab wound and more of a rip, like he had gotten himself stuck on a piece of electric fence. The irony was not lost on Taeyong but he thought it best to keep that particular thought to himself. 

The skin was blistered, an angry red surrounding the purpling bruises that were almost black in the centre. The ripped skin looked like it went deep, not quite to the bone but certainly close enough. They could see the healing bruises from just beneath the navy shirt, green and yellow fading back into Jeno's tanned skin that seemed an awful contrast to his paper-white face.

"Yeah," Johnny breathed out. "That's infected."

"So what do you propose I do to fix it." the boy was looking at them with open eyes now, still heavily guarded and the tinge of fear had deepened slightly around the corners, but another emotion had joined them. _Desperation_.

"Come with us. We have a private medical facility, we can help him."

"And how do I know that you're not part of EXO. Or ATEEZ, or Stray Kids or the other dozen gangs out there who would simply _love_ to have stumbled across such a treat!" his voice raised, panic poorly concealed with anger.

"You don't. You have no reason to trust us," Johnny spread his hands open, shrugging.

"But right now, we're your best - and only - option."

The room went silent for a moment, the two men staring down the young boy cradling his friend's head in his lap. His lips were pale and chapped, parted slightly.

The flooring creaked beneath Taeyong's feet as he shifted again, trying to not let his legs go dead. He's definitely creased his shoes by this point, and there's no point in trying to salvage them so he stays crouched down, eye level with the boy. 

He seemed to have a private discussion with himself, lips moving but no sound coming out. It seemed like hours passed by in what only could have been a mere minute in deliberation. His eyes dragged themselves up Taeyong's wiry frame, boring a hole through his eyes when they met and into the wall behind them.

"Promise me. Promise me you can help him. Promise me, _he won't die_." his eyes were budding small tears in the corner but were no less compelling, and Taeyong couldn't find it in himself to look away.

"I promise."

"And in return? No one does stuff for free around here, I know how this works. You want a drug runner? A scapegoat?"

"Your name would do just fine for now."

He took a breath, trailing a finger down Jeno's shoulder absentmindedly.

"Mark. It's Mark Lee."


	2. Chapter 2

_White knuckles, even whiter eyes. Madness pooling behind blank irises, unseeing. White sheets, white walls, white peeling nails. Red lips, spread open in silence, nothing pouring out, out, out but something going in, in, in. Hold. Count. A wail. The sound of leather swishing down. Cold winds brushing past white curtains, rustling blank paper on the white desk. Green trees and fluttering leaves. Red fruit. Pale skin gripping blackened handles, pushing out, out, out._

_Inhale,_

_in,_

_in,_

_in._

_Hold. Count._

A jolt took Mark back to the present.

The cool metal against his back did nothing to pad his shoulder blades from the impact of his shifted body, and he winced as his back thudded into the unforgiving metal. That was going to leave a nice, purple mottled bruise across his back for the next few days. From across the moving vehicle, Taeyong paid no mind to his muttered curse as he mourned the loss of the ability to sleep on his back.

_Hold. Count._

Jeno was in his lap. 

Originally, Mark had clenched his hands in the tattered material of his shorts, pulling at the long loosened threads with grimy fingernails and cut up palms. The bright yellow plastic-y cotton had long since faded into an unsightly, murky brown - a result of the long weeks of missing a wash. The best it had gotten in recent days was a dip in the stream beneath the bridge. He had waited, curled up in the undergrowth beside the flowing water for the morning sun to dry the dampened clothes - just enough to ensure he wouldn't catch a chill when he put them back on.

Jeno had said it was fine, said that he hadn't needed to go that day but Mark had known better. That stream would dry up in a week or so, and he'd be damned if he'd let dehydration kill them both after everything. The metal bucket Jeno had procured from the basement when they had first set up camp in the old building was far from sanitary, but it was the best thing they had at their disposal.

Sure, all their water had a slightly metallic taste to it, but it was better than dying from dehydration.

Mark lifted a hand, carding it through Jeno's hair as he slept fitfully on his lap. His hair was long and ratty, just like Mark's, but a little more dirty and a little more matted. With his leg no longer at his disposal suddenly things like rinsing out hair seemed a lot less important.

Using the end of a finger, Mark slowly and methodically began to unravel the knots in his hair, taking care not to pull too hard on any of the strands. A smile briefly crossed his face at the irony of it all. Usually it was Jeno carding a hand through Mark's slowly lengthening hair (barely recognizable from the buzz cut he had shaved his hair into a year prior), helping sooth the older boy to sleep. Mark had always marveled at Jeno's hair, at the shocking blond colour it had taken on to match the shockwaves that fell from his fingertips upon command. 

It mad him easier to identify as a gifted, so Mark had made him dye it a charcoal black months ago. No need to draw more attention than necessary, but he could already see the few centimeters of almost white hair that had grown out into the roots. Would they have hair dye in the, _headquarters?,_ they were being brought to? 

Mark hoped so. 

The man who had spoken to him, _Taemin_ , he thinks his name was, had a similar trait. His hair, a deep gunmetal grey, _should_ have been a dead giveaway as to what exactly had wandered into the abandoned house but Mark was too preoccupied to take good notice. It was a mistake that could have cost them their lives.

A mistake that still very well could. 

Mark lifted a hand to rub at his right eye, scrunching up his face as it burned slightly from the external irritation. Blinking rapidly to remove the few tears that had sprung up quickly, his hands kept their detangling of Jeno's hair as the van sped down the highway.

Where they were being taken, Mark had no idea. He wasn't sure if he actually cared anymore either. He was cold and tired from being constantly on edge, and honestly the prospect of _heating,_ and a _bed_ was sounding more and more tempting by every minute. He had yet to untense his muscles from their coiled positions, still hyper-aware of every small movement the wiry man sat across from them made. 

The car hitting a pothole caused another jolt, Jeno stirring and shifting minutely with a small groan that faded out into a whimper. Mark placed a cold hand onto his cheek, stroking the curve of his cheekbone with his thumb as he hushed him quietly. 

"It's okay, I'm sorry I'm sorry," he murmured to him with a hand running down his arm as it clenched and unclenched. Jeno furrowed his eyebrows, before slippping away and falling limp once more. 

Feeling a stare, Mark's eyes flickered upwards to meet the man's across from him. When he refused to drop his stare, Mark clicked his jaw and let his eyes fall bck onto the boy in his lap. _It's fine, you're fine. It's fine, you're fine. It's fine, you're-_

"Johnny, how far out are we?"

"Probably a half hour," came the voice from the front of the van. It was deep and intimidating, which was probably why Taeyoon had refrained from letting the taller man speak to the pair when they had first discovered each other. Not that he himself was much better though. 

Johnny seemed kind however, with warmer eyes that were less guarded than the cold, calculating ones Taesung had regarded them with in the loft. Mark wondered what had made them so hardened before shaking the thought from his head. It bounced out, landing on the cracks between the flooring and slipped away.

The van was old, that much Mark deducted from the very beginning - not only from the fact that it was still running on gasoline (something pungently obvious from the darkened oil stains that lined the seats as well as the splutter the vehicle let out when kick started into action) but also from the little observations he had collected in the last hour.

His swinging feet had let out a dull sound as his heel made contact with a plastic box underneath the bench he sat on. _Real_ plastic, not even digi-plastic. How long had it been since he had seen real plastic? Not since the night Mark and Jeno had spent beside the motel in Busan he thinks. They'd found some pseudo-food wrappers slipped in between the rocks, most of the best-before dates going back to the early days of pseudo-food's invention. Yes, it was cheaper but by _god_ it tasted so much worse. 

In Mark's worn-thin shoes, he could feel the outline of a logo emblazoned into the plastic casing, and after toe-ing the lines he came to the realization that it was a small cross.

_So,_ this van must really be ancient. The Red Cross was a government sanctioned organization that had fallen years ago, wiped out during world war VI, The United States of Europia being taken forcefully under Brillian's rule. Mark was pretty sure that the box was counted as illegal counterfeit now. Anyone claiming to be a part of the Red Cross was deemed insane, or dumb. Or both. They never stuck around for long either way, especially after the police caught wind of them.

Oh god. _Oh god_ , Mark's just gone and jumped into a car with a pair of insane Red Cross medic impersonators. he might have as well as signed his death certificate. 

The rising sun came streaming in through the single window in the back of the van, splitting slightly from the cracks that spiderwebbed from the corner to the centre of the flimsy pane.

_A well placed elbow could shatter that_.

Mark let his eyes drift to somewhere outside the window, watching the sun slowly pull itself above the horizon and casting a slight warm glow on the flattened land. He saw the distortion that came with the rays being deflected from the holograms that were dotted throughout the city. They had long since left the east side, watching the graffitied walls slowly be covered up by the holographic signs that would burn holes into your retinas if you stared for too long. God they were so _bright_ , like the designer had gone for eye-catching but missed by a mile. 

Holographics had replaced physical signage years ago, what with the only plastic readily available nowadays being digi-plastic, which was notorious for occasionally self-destructing when it malfunctioned. Sure, having it detonate when people were done with their food wrappers was a great idea, but not when there were dozens of cases of shopkeepers having their entire storefronts blown off after being unable to afford the sanctioned digi-plastic, and investing in the cheaper versions found on the street.

It had taken the three of them the best part of an hour to move Jeno down from the first floor. Taeyong and Johnny had their arms wrapped around the crease of his knees and underneath his arms respectively, lifting him up into the air with ease and the rotting stairs looking a little too close to collapse for comfort; and having Mark shoot down the idea of the two strangers just bodily hauling Jeno down the stairs _immediately_ , there wasn't much else to do except stand back and let the two men carry the loose-limped boy down the stairs.

Very, very carefully.

With every creak the dampened wood let out, Mark held up a hand that was tugging at his bottom lip otherwise from the bottom of the stairs, forcing the two men to stop in their already slow descent. It was a narrow staircase, and they clearly had a lot more muscle mass than Mark did at the moment, but it didn't mean he was any happier about watching the shitty wood fold beneath the weighted footsteps of the men. It creaked tauntingly, and while it wasn't a long fall, he definitely couldn't trust those men to cushion Jeno's fall before their own. 

Taeyang had muttered something to Johnny when his foot got caught in a small hold in the decaying wood, fumbling with the boy in his arms slightly as he stumbled. Jeno let out a soft whimper at the sudden shift and Mark glared at the back of the shorter man's head as he regained his footing.

"Watch it," he warned, crossing his arms over his chest to mask the tapping of his finger. 

"We _are_ ," Johnny peered at Mark from the top of the stairs, cradling the unconscious boy's head in his arms. Mark only gestured with his head to Jeno's fingertips that were crackling slightly despite him not being fully aware of his surroundings. 

"Jostle him too much and he'll think you're a threat." 

Teayoon gulped. 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

From the ground floor, Johnny cast a look back up the stairs. They had sagged a great deal from the extra strain that came with three grown men staggering down it (or two and a half, there was a good margin of error there considering that Jeno probably was under the maximum weight for airplane carry-on at this point). With his arms wrapped around the boy's shoulders, he could feel just exactly how long the pair had been going without proper nutrition - what with his fingers tracing the lines of his ribs and the sharpened collarbones that looked more like bowls scooping low towards his neck. His hollowed cheekbones looked a lot more daunting up close; not frightening in the way that one would cower in the face of it, but frightening in the unique sense of _what if I don't get to him before he collapses_.

In the corner of his eye, Johnny took this moment to truly size Mark up as well. Standing a half foot or so shorter than himself he looked even smaller than Jeno, though that hadn't come as much surprise. For the level of protectiveness Mark seemed to hold for his friend, it wouldn't be beyond the realm of his imagination that he was giving a lot of the little food they had to the black-haired boy. He'd surely done so with the medicine.

Mark's dark hair was limp and matted in places, pushed up and backwards to expose his forehead. An elastic hairtie wrapped around his wrist looked far past it's lifetime, the elastic peeking through the digi-plastic covering and barely retaining it's original shape. The few pieces of hair that escaped Mark's hand lay flat against his skin, the brown strands contrasting against the pale skin.

"Is there anything else you need to get from upstairs?" Johnny directed his words to Mark's back, the boy having turned away from him.

Mark paused, before blinking. Once. Twice.

"One thing," he muttered, before turning on his heel and taking the stairs two at a time back up to the loft. The stairs groaned concerningly underneath his feet, and he made quick work of bounding up them to rummage around in the room.

Brushing past, he closed the dresser drawers before dropping to his knees on the cold wooden flooring. Mark winced slightly at the impact, pausing to rub the reddened skin gingerly. 

"Ow," he hissed.

After soothing the skin for a moment more, he turned back to the dresser and shuffled closer on his hands and knees before shoving his hand beneath the left leg of the furniture without any preamble. The loose floorboard came up easily despite the weight that was previously keeping it in place, and his fingers scraped around for a moment before curling around something.

Pulling it out with a satisfied smile, Mark let it slip over his hand and settle comfortably on his wrist before he straightened up, brushing the small pebbles that had stuck to the skin of his knees.

Mark spun to face the staircase and were about to put one foot on the top stair before something halted him.

Spinning back, he aimed a swift kick at the nearly completely empty bucket of stream water that was slowly growing murky day by day. The metal clanked as it arced and then hit the ground again, rolling away in a semi-circle.

"God I've wanted to do that for weeks."

As Mark made his way back down the stairs again, skipping the middle few that were looking particularly precarious, he felt settled by the comforting weight that was sitting back on his wrist. Sure, it felt pretty cold against the scorch marks that were going to leave him with a bracelet shaped scar, but it was eons better than simply leaving it behind. 

Taeyong glanced up at Mark as he came back down the stairs, his eyes instinctively drawn to the bracelet on his wrist.

Small balls made out of cheap aluminum hung fast around his wrist, a small apple charm dangling in between two.

Cute.

"You ready to go?" Johnny questioned, bending down to scoop Jeno back into his arms.

Mark folded himself in slightly, before nodding. "Yeah."

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Jeno's twitching body yanked Mark from his thoughts as he felt him try to roll onto his stomach before falling backwards. Mark's hands made to grab his torso before he could slide off the bench entirely, but a different pair of hands caught him before he could. 

Barely looking up at Taeyong, Mark slid out from underneath the now squirming boy, his mouth open and panting as his eyes moved rapidly beneath his still closed eyelids. Mark shoved a hand down onto his chest, digging his nails into skin through the thin-worn material.

"Nono, wake up, it's not real," he leant down to the boy, whispering in his ear as he resumed the hand carding through his hair. "It's okay, it's okay, it's not real."

This happened bi-nightly now, either Mark or Jeno waking up in a cold sweat with bloody nail indents in their palms and cramps in their legs. Like they were still running, even in their dreams. No people, just shapes, chasing, chasing, _running, running,_ until nothing really looked like anything at all except that stupid old dresser that used to have food packages in it's drawers but now was just empty. 

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

Mark thinks they might have shocked the head-medic by showing up unannounced, going off the face that he made upon seeing the pair of boys supported in two of his stumbling members' arms. 

Just a little bit. 

The entrance of the building had been enough to shock Mark right back into silence, his words being stolen from the tip of his tongue and his mind running twice as fast. Having entered through the "east wing" entrance as Johnny had called back to Taeyong, (indicating that there was a "west wing" and a "north wing", all very good thoughts that Mark definitely didn't have the sense of mind to deal with at the time) but he wasn't expecting to see anyone appear back here so quickly. It had barely been a few seconds since he had slid himself out of the back of the van, and already a man had slipped through the wrought iron door to guide them into the building.

The door closed with a clang behind them, and if anyone noticed Mark jump briefly at the noise, no one made any comment.

Mark's eyes widened as he took in the room they were lead into, shoes making a soft scuffle sound that reverberated around the high-ceiling rafters. There didn't seem to be any visible light fixtures, the only lighting coming from the large open windows that amassed one entire side of the wall.

This was not what he had been expecting, having been picked up by some random gang that was probably ( _definitely_ ) planning on using Jeno as some kind of bodyguard electric shock toy, and Mark as a drug mule. It all seemed too refined, too put-together. Too out in the open. What kind of gang had a building in the centre of Seoul? What kind of gang could _afford_ a building in the centre of Seoul, let alone be stupid enough to purchase one?

The rumors circling these places told tall tales that had the security systems as cognitive as a human being for the right price, doormen with metal faces and glassy unseeing eyes, door handles that took DNA samples as soon as one laid a hand on the brassy knobs. They had all seemed such stories, but Mark was beginning to question if they weren't just, in fact, _true_. It certainly seemed possible, given the fact that the "east wing" door had opened without a command and the van doors had unlocked with a _click immediately_ afterwards - all without their driver moving a muscle. 

Mark hadn't thought that he looked that bad, but apparently by the grimace the medic made when he took both him and Jeno's cradled body was more than enough to dash that hope entirely. Perhaps he should have taken the comb with him when he first left - although it hadn't crossed his mind as one of the most important things at the time. Besides, Mark wasn't sure if it would have fit in the small green backpack he had tossed out the window before crawling out after it. Extra weight, and all that.

Mark certainly felt out of place in the middle of the - _lobby?_ Was this a lobby? - room, what with the pristine, marble flooring beneath his scuffed shoes being soiled by the dust that came off the ruined material dye having being worn past their best-by date, and the looming windows bearing down as they climbed higher and higher to the ceiling. 

A quick glance around told him that, yes, this was oddly reminiscent of a lobby, what with a counter of sorts at chest height for a standing man and a swivel chair pushed in neatly underneath. A small white notebook laid open flat on it's binding on the stone countertop, a midnight blue pen with gold detailing he couldn't quite make out from so far away lying in the spine. The computer flickered to life behind it, resting on the desk section in level with the chair and Mark squinted at why it looked so odd and out of place.

Mark slapped himself mentally. Stop trying to relate on an emotional level to a _computer_. Stop it, cut it out. 

The sleek black screen once online looked primitive in it's design, almost ancient, cancelling out the impressive outline the machine made when it was turned off. 

The medic introduced himself as Moon Taeil, already moving aside to let a smaller, younger boy through with a pouch banging against hip from where it hung on his belt loop. He came through the doorway, followed by another two boys pushing a smaller stretcher between them. 

Jeno was unceremoniously lifted and then quite literally plopped onto the bed, neither Taeyong nor Johnny paying any heed to the glare and the hiss Mark sent their way when the boy landed a little harshly on the red plastic covering. 

Taeil stepped back up beside the bed to peer over Pouch-Boy's arms. "How long has he been injured? That is not a new wound."

He looked accusingly at Johnny, who spread his hands innocently. "Swear, this time it wasn't us. Found 'em like this in the old station house." 

" _Found_?"

Taeyong nodded. "On the first floor. Looked like they'd been there for a while, and it didn't look like anyone was coming back for them."

Taeil pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you figured the best port of call was to drag them both out, _clearly terrified_ , into a van, out of the van and over the newly washed floors?"

"I - well when you put it like that-"

Taeil held up a hand. "You know what, I don't have the energy right now. You can take Jaehyun's cleaning shift and deal with," he pointed to the trail of dirt they had tracked in, " _that._ "

Mark, who had looked slightly miffed at the fact that he was being spoken about like he wasn't here had managed to move himself closer to the walls of the building, hands coming to clench the material at his waist. Before he could move any closer however, Pouch-Boy placed a hand on his arm to usher him out a different door while Jeno was being pushed back out the door the stretcher had originally come from. Mark jerked away from him, bringing his arm in protectively to his chest before making to follow Jeno and the two boys.

"We can't let you go in there," Pouch-Boy made to stop Mark following.

This time, Mark's yank of his arm out of reach was a little more reflective, and a little more violent. "Why not?" he questioned, turning on his heel.

"You're not cleared for entry in the medical wing, you _can't_ go in there," he tried to explain, not moving to grab Mark again but still moving closer.

Mark backed up. "He's gonna wake up _scared_ and _alone_ , you don't want to deal with a scared Jeno."

Pouch-Boy exchanged a glance with Taeyong who had moved to stand beside him. "You're not cleared for entry in the hospital wing," he repeated.

"I don't thin-" Mark began, but was stopped by Taeyong. 

"They're doing a medical procedure on your friend. Both him and you haven't had access to proper sanitary equipment in quite some time, am I right?" his voice was pitched calmly, as if speaking to a child and Mark bristled slightly at the notion.

Taeyong continued before he could interrupt. "I think your presence in a clean-room with an open wound would do a lot more harm than good to him, hm?"

Mark sunk back onto his heels slightly. 

"If you follow Jisung here," he gestured to Pouch-boy, "he'll bring you up to the showers and then you can come back down to Jeno after his procedure is complete. He won't wake up without you there, I promise you that."

Mark took a breath, hating how he shook slightly. There was only so much courage he could summon before he became achingly aware that he was alone in a room with three men, all taller, likely much stronger and a good deal faster than he was in his current state.

"Fine." he resigned, tucking shivering hands into his waistband.

"After you," Jisung cast a hand to the door exiting the room to the left side, and Mark quietly made his way across the marbled flooring. 

Mark stood back, not knowing whether he was to open the door himself or wait for someone to open it - was there a passcode? Would the door _shock him_? Oh god, what if this was their plan, he's going to die by doorhandl-

"Do you not know how to work a door knob?" Jisung's voice was light, almost teasing.

Mark stuttered, "Wh- _yes_?!" and without hesitation (with a little hesitation, actually) placed his hand on the doorknob to turn it to the right. _Left_.

The door slid open soundlessly, and the pair walked through. Closing, the arched wooden door let out a quiet beep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, i hope most (or some, ill really take anything) of the background is starting to make a bit more sense? most of this is just worldbuilding at the moment, in the next few chapters we should be delving into some more *plot*. 
> 
> \- akari :)


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